Wicked Inheritance

Chapter 5 - What Survives the Morning

Morning arrived without permission.

Sunlight crept into the Blackwood estate like an intruder, pale and indifferent, illuminating what the night had tried to hide. The vineyard lay quiet beyond the windows, dew clinging to the leaves, the crushed grapes already beginning to rot where Julian’s blood had soaked into the earth.

Ivy woke to the sound of voices.

Not Julian’s. Never again Julian’s.

These were sharper. Official. Measured.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the guest bedroom she’d been guided into sometime before dawn. She remembered fragments—hands at her shoulders, a blanket draped over her, a glass of water pressed to her lips. Remembered screaming herself hoarse, remembered the weight of eyes on her grief.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Her dress from the night before lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, stained dark at the hem. She stepped over it and pulled on a robe instead, tying it tight, armor disguised as silk.

When she opened the bedroom door, the house was no longer hers.

Two uniformed officers stood at the end of the hall. A woman in a navy blazer spoke quietly into her phone near the stairs. Somewhere downstairs, a man laughed once, too loudly, and was immediately shushed.

The estate had become a crime scene.

“I need to speak with Mrs. Blackwood.”

The voice was calm, professional, practiced.

Ivy turned to find Detective Elena Cruz standing just outside the doorway, notepad in hand, expression carefully neutral. Early forties, sharp eyes, no wasted movements. Someone who didn’t intimidate with volume but with patience.

“Of course,” Ivy said. Her voice sounded thin to her own ears. She hated that. “Whatever you need.”

Cruz nodded, as if checking a box. “We’ll keep this brief.”

They sat at a small table in the adjoining sitting room. The detective declined coffee. Ivy didn’t. Her hands trembled as she lifted the cup; she let them. Some tells were useful.

“I know this is difficult,” Cruz began. “But I need you to walk me through last night. From the beginning.”

Ivy swallowed.

She told the truth.

Mostly.

She described the party, the drinking, Julian’s enthusiasm for the hunt. She described excusing herself to go inside, feeling tired, overwhelmed. She described hearing shots in the distance and thinking nothing of them.

“And when did you realize something was wrong?” Cruz asked.

“When someone screamed,” Ivy replied softly. “When I heard his name.”

Her breath hitched on cue.

Cruz’s pen scratched across the page. “You weren’t with your husband when the shot was fired.”

“No.”

“And you weren’t with anyone else.”

The statement wasn’t a question.

Ivy looked up, eyes glassy. “I was alone.”

A pause.

“Several guests report seeing Mr. Sebastian Blackwood leave the main party around the same time,” Cruz said carefully. “Did you see him last night?”

Ivy’s heart stuttered once. She let it.

“I saw Sebastian earlier in the evening,” she said. “Not after.”

Cruz studied her face for a long beat. Ivy held the gaze, letting the silence stretch. She had learned long ago that people filled gaps when given enough room.

“Thank you,” Cruz said finally. “We may need to speak again.”

Of course you will, Ivy thought.

After the detective left, Ivy remained seated long enough for the coffee to go cold.

She found Sebastian an hour later.

He stood alone in the study, staring out at the vineyard through the tall windows, hands clasped behind his back. He had changed clothes—dark jeans, crisp white shirt—but he hadn’t slept. She could see it in the tightness of his shoulders, the way his jaw worked as if grinding down something bitter.

“They spoke to you,” he said without turning.

“Yes.”

“Same questions.”

“Yes.”

A beat.

“Did you lie?”

Ivy stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Did you?”

Sebastian finally turned.

For the first time since the gunshot, there was no mask on his face. Just exhaustion. And something sharper beneath it—calculation, yes, but also fear.

“They’re calling it an accident,” he said. “For now.”

“For now,” Ivy echoed.

He crossed the room, stopping a careful distance away. Close enough to feel dangerous. Not close enough to be seen.

“They asked about us,” he added quietly.

Her breath caught despite herself. “And?”

“I told them the truth.” His eyes held hers. “That I hated him. That I argued with him. That I left early.”

Ivy felt the floor tilt. “That’s not the truth. That’s ammunition.”

“They already have it,” Sebastian replied. “I’d rather control how it’s used.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unresolved.

“We should stop,” Ivy said suddenly.

The words surprised them both.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Stop what?”

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Whatever this is. At least until—”

“Until what?” His voice sharpened. “Until they stop looking? Until the ground settles over him and everyone forgets?”

“They won’t forget,” Ivy said. “And if we keep—if we don’t create distance—”

“You think distance will save us?” Sebastian stepped closer now, anger bleeding through his restraint. “They already see us. The way we stand. The way you won’t look at anyone else in this house.”

She looked up at him then, really looked.

“You didn’t kill him,” she said.

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a need.

Sebastian held her gaze. “No.”

The relief hit her harder than she expected.

She nodded once. “Good.”

His mouth curved humorlessly. “That was never the question that scared me.”

“Then what was?”

“That you might have.”

The words cut clean and precise.

Ivy didn’t flinch.

“I wanted him gone,” she said evenly. “Every day. But I didn’t pull that trigger.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly, something uncoiling in his chest. “Then someone else did.”

“And they want us exactly where we are,” Ivy said. “Unbalanced. Distracted.”

A knock sounded at the door before either of them could respond.

A staff member poked their head in. “The board is asking when you’ll be available Mrs. Blackwood.”

Of course they were.

Ivy straightened, the widow sliding back into place like a second skin. “Tell them this afternoon.”

The door closed again.

Sebastian watched her, something like admiration flickering across his face. “You’re already thinking about the company.”

“I never stopped.”

He nodded slowly. “Neither did Julian.”

The name landed between them like a ghost.

Outside, the vineyard glittered in the sun, innocent again.

Inside, Ivy felt the shape of the future forming—sharp edges, narrow margins, no room for mistakes.

“What survives the morning,” she said quietly, “is never the truth.”

Sebastian’s gaze darkened. “Then we’d better be very careful about what we let live.”

They stood there, not touching, not retreating.

The war hadn’t begun yet.

But it had learned their names.